


Blushes Per Hour

by BlossomsintheMist



Series: Steve/Tony Kinktober 2017 [11]
Category: Marvel, Marvel (Comics), Marvel 616, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Begging, Blushing, Blushing Steve Rogers, Bottom Steve, Bottom Steve Rogers, Dirty Talk, Dom Tony, Dom Tony Stark, Dom/sub Undertones, Established Relationship, Explicit Sexual Content, Feminization, Hand Jobs, Implied Embarrassment About a Kink, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Mention of past relationships, Nipple Play, Oral Sex, Praise Kink, Sexual Content, Slight humiliation kink, Sub Steve, Sub Steve Rogers, Titfucking, Top Tony, Top Tony Stark, honor bondage, mentions of switching, with Steve's chest/pectoral muscles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-22
Updated: 2017-10-22
Packaged: 2019-01-21 05:37:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,719
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12450714
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlossomsintheMist/pseuds/BlossomsintheMist
Summary: Steve chewed on his bottom lip.  “Well, no,” he said.  “Um, but.” He was breathing heavily now, through his nose.  “Rachel liked it when I did it, because she has, uh, she has sensitive breasts, and I, um, err.  Sometimes I’d pull on my own nipples during, or, or after, on my own, and.  And I’d imagine—wonder, really, if I was.  If I had enough, or—”“Are you saying you’ve fantasized about this?” Tony said, and he couldn’t help the pure delight that came through in his tone, because had he actually stumbled onto one of Steve’s kinks, here?  He’d never let on at all before, not at all.Written for Day Thirteen of Kinktober: Titfucking.





	Blushes Per Hour

**Author's Note:**

> “Speed of love is measured in blushes per hour.”  
> ― Vikrmn, Corpkshetra
> 
> There is some slight humiliation kink, slight embarrassment kink, and referring to a male-identified character with feminine coded terms in this fic. Also, Steve starts off embarrassed about something he later turns out to be turned on by and tells Tony to stop several times (because he is turned on and embarrassed by it, which later becomes more clear).

Steve always blushed so beautifully.  He had a warm, pink complexion, all peaches and cream, and the flush would start out red over his face, go down his neck, over his ears, then down his chest.  It would be just as hot and red and flushed if you turned him over to look at his back, and if he was embarrassed enough, his thighs and the tight cheeks of his rear would start to glow with it, too. Tony took it as a personal mission, sometimes, to make him blush down to his thighs in bed, not because he wanted to put him on the spot or make him squirm (much), but because it often meant that he’d found something that really turned Steve on.  Steve almost always blushed when he was turned on.

He was blushing now, not quite that far down, down over his pecs, turning them bright red, a deep rosy flush that reached all the way down to his perky nipples, hot and hard enough it was like they were begging for a touch, a mouth on him.  Tony couldn’t deny him, let his thumb drag around the flushed areola, just a touch of the nail, until Steve was breathing heavily, unsteadily, his breath whimpering in his throat, his hips squirming, not quite rolling up, but close.  Tony shifted over, braced himself against the bed with one arm, and closed his fingers around that hot, flushed, red nipple where it stood up from Steve’s chest, and squeezed.

Steve’s breath left him on a rush, a low aching kind of moan, hoarse and rough, his hips stuttered up, cock pulsing as it smeared another wet stripe of precome across his stomach, and Tony smiled, rubbed his thumb against the flushed swell of sensitive skin just below it, along the areola.  “I’ll never get enough of that,” he confessed.  “Seeing how sensitive you are there.  Just a little play, a little bit of teasing, sweet stuff, and it’s like it’s better than your cock.”

Steve turned even more deeply red.  “Come on, Tony, it’s not better than my cock,” he said, smiling a little even though his cheeks were deep red, redder than his own shield, more like Tony’s own armor.  His voice came out rough and low and hoarse, and that went straight to Tony’s cock.

“I don’t know, babe,” Tony teased.  “They stand up just like your desperate, throbbing cock, all erect, like they want my mouth on them just as much.  I bet they’re throbbing too, huh?”

Steve blushed even redder, the flush spreading down under his pecs now, down to his navel, and gave a hoarse, whining little moan, gasping and low, and writhed under Tony, the way he kept teasing his nipple.  Tony got the other hand up, tugged on the other one, and Steve’s breath shattered, and his hands flew up, slid into Tony’s hair and tugged, not rough, but needy, so damn needy, as he arched his back up, pressed his chest into Tony’s hands.

That was unusual for Steve, who was more likely to dig his hands into the covers of the bed and breathe harshly and bite his lips and try to lie still, who tried so hard not to be rough that Tony swore he could see his muscles straining with it sometimes, trying not to grab anything too hard or rip the sheets (Steve had broken headboards, wall tiles, ripped sheets and comforters, and in one memorable moment put his foot through the mattress, and he always felt so damn guilty over it, the poor guy).  He wasn’t even holding Tony hard now, hands soft and trembling in Tony’s hair, like he just needed something to hold onto as he pushed his chest up desperately into Tony’s palms, and God, it was sexy.  Tony obliged him, squeezed his heaving pecs, rubbed his thumbs, both of them, hard against the underside of his nipples.  His breath was panting, shaking in his throat, whining low as he shook under Tony, his dick slapping against his firm abs with every needy jerk of his hips, spattering his own belly and chest with the abundant precome he was leaking. “Tony, please,” he gasped out, and it was already breathy, unsteady, soft.  Jesus, Tony thought, his own cock feeling hot and needy between his legs, a jolt of want going straight to it.

“Please what, my dearest,” Tony teased, still rubbing up and over Steve’s nipples, squeezing his hands down on his chest, letting his fingers dig into the firm muscle and soft flesh until Steve gasped and writhed under him.  “Please don’t point out how desperate your cute little nipples are for some good hard attention?  Please play with your needy tits harder?”

Steve’s eyes had a glazed look, his lips bitten and flushed and, and his face was so red Tony could practically feel the heat coming off it from where he was kneeling over him, radiating it like a heating element.  “Tony,” he said, and it came out in that hoarse, husky rough voice that meant he was really, _really_ feeling the burn of desire in his dick.  His fingers tightened in Tony’s hair, though, like he wanted to pull him closer.  “Tony, please, I.  I.”

“Sweetheart,” Tony said, and let his fingers loosen, feather lightly over the hot smooth skin of Steve’s pectoral muscle, the soft silken feel of the invisible blond hair that barely dusted it, “I’ve been with beautiful, shapely women with smaller tits than you.  You have a rack, babe.  Own it.”

Steve’s blush went down to his belly now, a flushed rosy halo under the head of his cock where it leaked into his navel.  His neck, his ears were bright red, and he gave a helpless little groaning laugh. “Tony, quit it,” he said, biting his bottom lip.

Tony’s own dick felt hot, needy, throbbing between his legs now.  He grinned, leaning in, so that his breath feathered over Steve’s lips, and Steve made a soft, grunting, helpless noise, his head tilting back, pushing into the pillow, as he tried to follow Tony’s face with his eyes.  “I don’t think you really want me to, cupcake,” Tony said, tracing Steve’s plush bottom lip with his finger, pushing it in against the soft, bitten softness there, slick with Steve’s spit, his sucking on it. “Look at me, dollface, and tell me you don’t like it.  Don’t like it when I talk about your gorgeous, heaving tits.”

Steve moaned, and his eyes slid closed, lashes squeezing tight against his hot cheeks, trembling, and Tony knew that was an admission in and of itself.  “See,” Tony murmured, brought his hands up to frame Steve’s face, rubbed his thumbs over those hot cheeks, “see?  You love it, buttercup.”

Steve whined, through his nose, his fingers tangling in Tony’s hair, squeezing into his neck. “Tony,” he said, all breathy want and embarrassment mixed together.  His lips parted, hung open.

“You give it up so sweet,” Tony told him, stroked his thumbs up over his cheeks, kissed the tip of Steve’s nose.

“ _Tony_ ,” Steve said, like all the air had been knocked out of him.  His fingers slid down over the back of Tony’s head, and he gasped, his lips all slick and sweet as he panted, pressing his head to one side, rolling his hot cheek against the pillow.

“You know,” Tony said, as he shifted himself over Steve, moved to straddle him, careful not to press down on his cock, give him stimulation that way.  He reached up with one hand, curled it in the damp tangle of golden hair tousled over Steve’s forehead, “I like you with the longer hair, when it kind of falls in your eyes like this.”

Steve’s lashes fluttered over his eyes; he was panting, rolling his hips hard enough that his cock hit his abs, smearing all over his stomach, with a loud wet smack, every time they slid back down. “I, I, I need a haircut,” he mumbled.

“No, you don’t, gorgeous,” Tony said, smiling, “that’s what I’m trying to tell you.”  He stroked his hand back through it, tucked the strands behind Steve’s ear.  “Grow it out for me, won’t you?”

“It gets all damp and sticky under the cowl,” Steve said, breathy and a little pouty, which had to be the cutest thing.  “But hell, Shellhead, if you like it.”

“I do like it,” Tony said.

Steve blew out a breath and it tickled over Tony’s hand in his hair.  Tony smoothed it back, then slid his hands down over Steve’s chest again, and Steve choked on the breath in his throat.

“Look at that,” Tony murmured.  “Just a little pressure on those pretty tits …” he dug in the tips of his fingers, the pads, not the nails, and dragged them down over the heaving hot muscle of Steve’s pectoral, pushed them against the underside, slid one over the nub of Steve’s hot nipple, and Steve let out a desperate little choking noise.  His cock slapped his belly so hard Tony wondered if it _hurt_ , leaking so much precome it was sliding down into Steve’s navel until it was full of clear wetness, overflowing and spilling out and smearing all over Steve’s abs.  “And you’re getting yourself all wet,” he told him, marveling at the spectacle, Steve’s hard, flushed leaking cock, the tip red and almost angry where it peeked out of his foreskin, his stomach all covered with his fluids.

Steve’s fingers dug into Tony’s shoulders, his hands trembled like he wanted to squeeze harder but couldn’t let himself.  “Tony,” he said.  “You’re such a, a, a goddamn tease.  The, the smart.  Smart mouth on you.”

“Well, _yeah_ ,” Tony said, grinning, gripping Steve’s gorgeous firm tit in his hand and massaging it, rolling the heel of his hand against it. “You love it.”

Steve flushed. “’Course,” he said, smiling. “Damn, but you make me blush.”

“It’s a specialty,” Tony said, smiling back.  “And you blush so sweet, so easy for me, whenever I talk about your pretty, pretty tits, don’t you?”

“They’re not, really, they’re not,” Steve mumbled.  His hand fell back down, gripped, squeezed, at the blankets, and he was whimpering, pushing his chest up into Tony’s hand like he couldn’t get enough of that rolling squeeze of his chest muscle.

“What?” Tony said. “Not what?  Not your sweet titties?  Not completely _fantastic_? Not so sensitive you could probably come just from me doing this to you, couldn’t you, sugar plum?”

Steve was biting his lip, and finally he gave in, reached down and gripped his cock and squeezed and groaned like he was about to come off all over himself right there.  He jacked himself once, twice, then dropped his cock on his belly again, squeezed his balls, gripped his own thigh and kneaded at it like he didn’t have the first clue what to do with his hands, the other one gripping helplessly at Tony’s shoulder, all that strength in his arm helpless and shaking as he hung onto Tony, and wasn’t that a trip.

“Have you even seen your figure?” Tony asked, letting it come out soft, affectionate, warm.  He rubbed at Steve’s wet, dripping navel, the smearing trail of precome under it, slid his fingers over along his muscled side, all corded muscled strength and tight little waist.  “Tiny little waist, huge sweet gorgeous chest,” Steve whined under him, his mouth all wet, drool slipping out of it to drip down his cheek, over his jaw.  He wasn’t sure why this did it for Steve the way it did—maybe because his lovely body had been constructed, shaped until he looked like he’d posed for Michelangelo but with a bigger dick, maybe it was just because of how beautifully sensitive Steve got in his tits when you played with them a little, but Steve was whining and shuddering under him, his eyes blown and wide and glazed like Tony had his hand on his cock rather than on the sweet firm mounds of his chest.  “You don’t even have to wear a corset, babydoll,” Tony told him, “you’ve already got the look.”

“Tony,” Steve moaned. He seriously looked like he was just about to come.

“Look, baby,” Tony said, tracing his finger down the valley between Steve’s pecs, now, trailing it over the hot, trembling skin.  “I’ll prove it to you.”

“Hnnh?” Steve said, a helpless noise like he’d forgotten how to talk.

“I haven’t done this with too many ladies,” Tony told him, “because it takes a certain type of girl to enjoy it,” and most of the people of the more feminine persuasion Tony had been with had been a lot more interested in fucking Tony through the floor until he was a shuddering, shaking mess who couldn’t string any words together but _yes, mistress, more, harder, own me_ , but that was beside the point, and Steve probably already knew that anyway, “but you’ve got the rack for it.”

Steve was going slowly, subtly redder, shading into a new tone of red Tony wasn’t sure he’d seen before even on his fair skin.

“Nice and rounded,” Tony said, and cupped his palms against Steve’s pecs, “fill up my hands so good, sugar, look,” and Steve actually _did_ , groaned and then shut his eyes, tight, hand digging hard into his own thigh as his cock pulsed, slapped against his belly again.  Tony slid his thumbs up to the underside of Steve’s nipples, ran them back and forth there.  “You ever had a titty fuck before, sport?” he asked, then.  Steve bit down on his lip so hard Tony half expected to see blood, and said, “Hey, take it easy, slugger,” his voice leaving him soft and low and gentle.

Steve said, breath groaning in his throat, “Y-you mean, did any of my, my, my partners let me,” he gestured helplessly toward his reddening pecs, “or did anyone ever do it to, to me?”

Tony raised his eyebrows, “I’m not sure,” he said, “but if you’ve ever had a dick between your pretty ripe Georgia peach tits before, handsome, I’d really appreciate you filling me in, because that’s fantasy material you’re holding out on for me right there.”

Steve chewed on his bottom lip.  “Well, no,” he said.  “Um, but.” He was breathing heavily now, through his nose.  “Rachel liked it when I did it, because she has, uh, she has sensitive breasts, and I, um, err.  Sometimes I’d pull on my own nipples during, or, or after, on my own, and.  And I’d imagine—wonder, really, if I was.  If I had _enough_ , or—”

“Are you saying you’ve _fantasized_ about this?” Tony said, and he couldn’t help the pure delight that came through in his tone, because had he actually stumbled onto one of Steve’s kinks, here?  He’d never let on at all before, not at all.

Steve just blushed, bit his lip, and looked up at Tony like he wanted Tony to just pluck it out of his head and make it happen, his breath panting, rasping in his throat the way only the hardest fights made him gasp for breath.

“If you want me to do this,” Tony said, and his voice came out cooing, sweet, velvety, he rocked himself over Steve, feeling his own dick hard and wet and sticky now, “you put your hands on your tits, okay, and you show me, you show me how you like your hard little nipples played with, first.  How you do it, when you’re on your own and you want your tits teased so bad you don’t even care you don’t have a hand on your dick.”

“You’re going to kill me, Tony,” Steve moaned, but he lifted his hands and he did it, cupping his pecs in his hands, first, like he was feeling the shape of them, feeling the heft, the way they heaved against his palms the way he was breathing so hard. He pressed his palms into them like he was just feeling them there, then rocked them up against his nipples for a second before he reached up with his thumb and his forefinger and squeezed. And, Tony thought, he should have expected that Steve would work himself hard, but he felt his lips parting, felt his own moan of surprise, as Steve went to town on himself, tugging and pinching and _scratching_ at his own nipples like they itched with throbbing need, with pleasure, working his hips and groaning like it hurt not to have a hand on his cock but he wasn’t about to stop tugging his nipples into hard little points in order to get one down there, pressing his fingers, his thumb, so hard down around the areolas and rubbing so intensely, so forcefully, that Tony wondered if he was going to leave himself bruised.

And then Steve was digging his fingers in, pushing his pecs together so they puffed out in a show of cleavage that was honestly ridiculous, and moaning loudly, almost desperately, his hips grinding and circling like all he needed was a hand on his cock to come, and Tony was rubbing his own cock down against Steve’s hip, feeling the hot bursts of pleasure shuddering through him but barely able to focus on it over what Steve was doing to himself.  “Please,” Steve moaned, after a moment, and tilted his head back, arching back and baring his neck like he was submitting all over.  “They’re throbbing, Tony, I need you so bad, I need you to use me, I want your cock,” and his hand slid up, rubbed between them, as he let one pec slip out of his grip and God, if it didn’t bounce a little bit, as Steve rubbed two fingers up between them, along the soft skin there like he was _imagining Tony fucking that little valley_ , “I need it, right here, Tony, how much more do I gotta beg.”

“God, you’re going to hurt yourself,” Tony said.  “And you say I’m going to kill _you_ , cupcake, are you kidding me?”

“I want you to hurt me,” Steve moaned, “I want you to leave them bruised, can you _please_ do it, Tony, please, God, I thought I was gonna come off earlier just from you talking about it, just from you, you calling them.  You, you, what you said, and I wasn’t sure if you were serious, I, please, Tony, _please_.”

Tony forced himself to stop rubbing against Steve’s hip, crawled up the bed until he could cup his jaw in his hand, slip his thumb between Steve’s lips, pressing at the corner of his mouth until Steve just let it fall open, drooling wet around the thumb, fucked it soft back and forth over his tongue until Steve was moaning, closed his mouth clumsily just to try to suck at it.  “You’ve gotta say it, honeybunch,” he breathed.  “You’ve got to say it if you want it.  Use your words.”

Steve moaned, his mouth open, spit leaking out of it, like he was helpless, like he’d forgotten how to do anything but pant around Tony’s thumb and squeeze his own flushed tit like he was dying for it, his other hand digging into the blankets like he needed to hold onto something.

“Say it,” Tony said, and pulled his thumb out of Steve’s mouth, pushed it at his full, puffy lower lip, swollen from all that biting.  “You know what, peaches.”

“Tony, please, fuck my tits,” Steve said, eyes squeezing shut and his muscles going loose all over, and it came out all hoarse and breathy and it went straight to Tony’s cock, he was going to be reliving that moment to get himself off for years; he just _knew_ it.

“That’s a good sweetie,” Tony murmured, stroking Steve’s cheek with his wet thumb now.  His dick was throbbing, aching.  “That’s it.  So good, so good, aren’t you?  Now press your gorgeous titties together for me.”

Steve moaned, got his hand back up, pressed them together, looking up at Tony like he wanted to make sure he was doing it right.  Tony sucked in a breath, got his hand down and rubbed it up and down his cock, once or twice, just had to, feeling the pleasure build in him, burning high and hot. He rubbed his thumb over the slit, feeling the sticky wetness of precome, let himself roll his hips down into it, then pulled his hand away and used his sticky thumb to pull Steve’s lower lip down, rubbing it against it.

Steve moaned, let spit bubble up and drip down over it, closed his lips and sucked at it like he couldn’t imagine anything better than tasting Tony’s musk, his precome, on his thumb.

“That’s it,” Tony murmured, “that’s perfect, dollface, you look so pretty, just squeezing those pretty tits for me, you’re so good, just like that.”

“Tony,” Steve breathed, “T-Tony.”

“That’s right,” Tony told him, a moan wanting to escape him again at how Steve sounded, how he _looked_ , “rub your tits a little for me, make yourself feel good.”

Steve swallowed, his throat spasming where he’d tipped his head back in such willing submissiveness, wet noises slipping out of him, and Tony watched, feeling hot desire build tighter and tighter in his gut, in his thighs, in his dick, as Steve’s big strong fingers rubbed up and down the sides of his red, heaving pecs, in against the firm muscles and soft skin, still holding them together, just massaging the sides of those hot needy pillows of muscle.

“Good boy,” Tony murmured, “good boy,” and it came out hot and rasping.  Steve moaned, whimpering and breathy and high-pitched, as Tony reached over him, dug the lube out from under the pillow, and Steve whined, turned his head and rubbed his face against Tony’s arm, all hot and sweaty, as if he couldn’t bear not to have that extra little bit of contact.  “Shh, shh, I’ve got you,” Tony found himself murmuring, what Steve so often said to him when he was spaced out and needing something, reassurance, Steve’s presence, rubbing his hand through Steve’s hair, stroking the tips of his fingers against his scalp, even as he sat back and trailed the tips of his fingers gently down over Steve’s throat.  Steve moaned, massaging his own fingers in harder against his pecs, his eyes fluttering as he gazed up at Tony, licking his lips as if in anticipation, spreading his legs, and God, how much Steve wanted this now that they were actually here was going to go straight to Tony’s cock and his heart and short-circuit his brain.

He didn’t know if they were actually going to need lube; Steve’s skin was smooth and glowing with sweat and velvety-soft, with that short barely there silken hair over it, but the last thing Tony wanted was to chafe his skin when he so clearly wanted this so much, and he figured it would be nice for Steve to have Tony stroking the lube over his sensitive skin and needy, throbbing nipples, both for the pure sensation of the massage and to add to the fantasy, the twinge of humiliation or whatever it was that got him off so hard that Tony was really going to fuck him like that, so he squirted out a good amount of it into his palm and rubbed it between his hands until he felt like it was warm enough, then put his hand on the top of Steve’s pectoral, right where Steve pushing them together made the swell the sweetest and the fullest, and trailed lube over it.

Steve sucked in his breath, and his lashes fluttered.  He groaned, groaned even louder as Tony pushed his hand into that tight flushed space between his hot, heaving muscles and started to rub the lube back and forth, slathering it over his soft skin, up over the full curves on both sides, making sure it dribbled down over his nipples until Steve was biting his lips, gasping and shivering with each touch.  “Feeling good, sweetie pie?” Tony asked, massaging his hands over each full, pushed up mound of muscle and all that ridiculously smooth skin, and Steve just moaned, his jaw going soft, lips slack and hanging open, and Tony could feel the way he was working his hips, jerking up helplessly like just the drag of gravity on his dick, the half-painful smack of his sensitive tip against his stomach, was some kind of relief with the sensation.

“Oh, God, Tony,” he groaned. There was saliva leaking its way out the side of his mouth again, trickling down his cheek.

“Gonna need a yes or a no, big guy,” Tony muttered, sliding his fingers down to circle Steve’s hot, peaked nipples with the lube, squeezing and rubbing and getting them all wet.

Steve’s first response was entirely nonverbal, a low, guttural groan, but then he said, “Yes?  Good, good, oh, God.”

“That’s it,” Tony breathed, encouraging, loving how Steve rocked up into his hands, how every pinch or circle around his nipples made him breathe out low and rough or groan or twitch under him.  He spent a few more moments teasing them, feeling the heat settle in his own belly, go straight to his dick, then squirted out more lube onto his hand, let it warm up, and then dripped it onto Steve’s collarbone, smoothed one hand down between his heaving tits.  Steve shivered under him, and then Tony was moving back, up onto his knees, stroking himself with his own warm, lube-slick hand.

He only gave himself a few long strokes, a few tugs, because he wanted to save plenty for Steve, then scooted up over his broad, beautiful torso, watching his chest heaving before he squeezed his knees on either side of Steve’s chest, braced his arms beside his head.  Steve looked at his cock, then up at him, his expression rapt, lashes fluttering, like he just couldn’t wait for Tony to start sliding his dick into that tight little valley between his pectorals.  Tony couldn’t quite believe it—he believed that Steve was into it, of course, he had the sweetest, most sensitive little nipples, the most gorgeously sensitive chest—but all this, and Tony hadn’t even put a hand on his dick, yet Steve was acting like that hardly mattered next to the possibility of getting his tits fucked, looking up at Tony and licking his bottom lip, cheeks flushed and expression rapt and his hands so, so tight on his own pecs, pushing them together.  “Okay, here we go,” Tony muttered.  “You just keep pressing those tits tight together for me, peaches, okay?”

Steve sucked on his bottom lip, nodded eagerly.  Tony rubbed his hand down over the top of Steve’s pecs, and Steve whimpered, pushed up against it.  His eyes fluttered closed as Tony traced his wet finger down over the crease between them, poked it into the hot wet space, testing the give, which made Steve squirm under him, his breathing go unsteady, and then Tony lined himself up and pressed into that hot, tight pressure.

He kept his hand on himself, pressing down, because he figured his dick might just slide out otherwise, and was proved right a second later when the slick slide was over taken by tight, sweaty, lube-slick heat, the incredible friction and pressure Steve was managing to create by pushing his muscles together that tightly.  Damn, he forgot how strong Steve was sometimes, Tony thought, dazedly.

Damn, if that intense pressure didn’t feel _amazing_ , just the right side of painful, on his dick.  Tony wasn’t that into pain, but he did like a little bit of bite with his pleasure, the intensity of it, a tight hard squeeze that really made him feel it, and even though it wasn’t anything like fucking the intense tightness of Steve’s ass, for example, slippery and loose in comparison, soft satiny skin over muscle that quivered with Steve’s breaths rather than the silky undulating crush of him inside and just … different, the squeeze was just incredible anyway, hot tight pressure all the way around him until the head of him hit cool air on the other side.  Steve was slick enough with lube that Tony could slide back and forth, if he kept his hand pressing down on top of the space between Steve’s pecs.

Steve gave a long, whimpering, low, rough sigh, and his head fell back against the pillows as he took in gulps of air.  His hips were jerking behind Tony; he could feel the way Steve’s body bucked against his from where he was straddling him, but he had a feeling it was just an instinctive response to the overwhelming want Steve was feeling right then, based on the flushed, blissed out look on his face.  It was actually a good thing, Tony thought distractedly, that his own dick wasn’t too huge.  It probably wouldn’t work if he were ridiculously well endowed, like, well, like Steve was.  As it was, he sort of felt like he was just the right size, a little on the slim side, to keep his dick tucked firmly between Steve’s heaving pecs.  When he looked down, past his own hand firmly pressing his dick down between Steve’s hot, flushed muscles, he could see them rubbing together, the swollen red peaks of Steve’s nipples pushed up high and tight and glistening with lube, his own dick just peeking out the other side with each firm slide he gave forward between those smooth heaving muscles.

“God, Tony,” Steve moaned, his voice breaking, thick and low.  “It feels so good.”

Tony thought it was probably the psychology of it, the idea of it, getting to Steve, though his chest was sensitive enough that he might be getting a lot out of it from the sensations, too.  He reached up to stroke at Steve’s cheek with the hand on his chest, just for a few seconds, tricky as it was while balancing himself on one hand and slowly pushing himself up and down the tight channel created by Steve pushing on his muscles. It really was incredibly tight, he thought, perfectly so—he would definitely be able to come from this, which was an incredible thought.  “Good,” he managed to mumble, “I’m so glad, honeymuffin.  That’s what we want here.”  He rubbed his thumb along Steve’s cheekbone, then brought his hand back down, tweaking Steve’s lube-wet nipple lightly before he pressed his hand back down over himself.

Steve gave a low, choking cry, arched his back, pushing himself up against Tony’s cock, his hand, with so much force that it almost knocked him back where he was straddling him. “Whoa, there, cowboy!” Tony said, grinning. “Take it easy.”

“Sorry,” Steve said, sounding a little sheepish.  “Just, mmm, got excited.”  He was smiling, though, too, flushed and beautiful, and Tony felt something in his chest, in his heart, clench, full of warmth and pleasure, seeing him like that, in a way that had nothing to do with his cock.

“I hear you,” he said, “I really do.  You’ve got such sweet nipples.”  He ran his thumb back and forth over that one, smiling as Steve groaned and rocked back and forth, down into the touch, finding himself focusing almost more on that than the continuing pleasure of sliding his cock back and forth along Steve’s heaving pecs.  Steve’s hands had loosened a little with his pleasure, but it was still plenty tight, and now a little less overwhelming, which had Tony’s gut unclenching, had him breathing deeply as slow, easy pleasure started to build inside him.  Oh, yeah, that was how he liked it.  A long slow, easy ride that built to an orgasm without him having to think about it.

And Steve’s pecs were such a sweet, velvety pressure on his cock, hot and tight and slick with lube, it was easy to just lose himself in looking down at Steve’s flushed, blissed out face, the way he bit his lips and moaned, rocking his hips, lashes fluttering, as Tony played with each of his sweet nipples in turn, coaxing the slick wet nubs ever higher and perkier.  By the time Tony felt his balls drawing up, the heat centering in his cock, shooting up along it, it was easy to relax into the pleasure.  “Babydoll,” he murmured, and Steve moaned, opened what looked like heavy-lidded eyes fully, smiled up at him, and God, that just made Tony’s heart pound, that warm tight, intense feeling growing ever wider in his chest.  “How do you want it?” he managed to ask.  “Come on your pretty tits?  Over your neck?”  He traced his fingers along Steve’s neck, and he groaned, pushed up into it, trembling, tongue soft at the edge of his mouth for a moment as he panted.  “Give you a pearl necklace, huh?  Or do you want to give me a little bit of a blowjob, let me come in your mouth?”

Steve squirmed under him, his eyes blown, but his voice was certain when he said, “The last one, Tony, oh please, can I?”

It was so damn sweet, and there wasn’t a way in the world Tony could have refused him, not when he asked like that.  He pushed himself forward, letting his ass cheeks, his thighs, rub over Steve’s nipples, his slippery pecs, and Steve moaned, like he was luxuriating under it, pushing his chest up against Tony’s warm body, raising his hands to cup Tony’s ass lightly, stroke gently at his thighs, and then Tony could brace himself with his knees, feed his cock carefully into Steve’s open mouth, hanging open for it like he couldn’t wait, God.

“Mmm,” Steve said, like that was everything he’d been wanting, to have Tony’s cock in his mouth, and sucked lightly at the tip.  Tony got one hand down, curled it into Steve’s hair, just anchoring, not pulling hard, and gripped the headboard with the other, just rocking a little, letting Steve lave his tongue over it, suck at him, not pushing too far into his mouth. Steve’s mouth was hot and wet and wonderful, and he let his hands rest warm and sweaty on Tony’s thighs as if to anchor himself, and Tony let his head fall back and just lost himself in it, let himself just rock his hips and ride the pleasure higher and higher until he came and the pleasure shot through him, clenching in his stomach and tight in his thighs.  He let himself rock his hips gently until the pleasure came down, vaguely aware of how Steve was following him with his mouth and not letting himself go any harder or faster, then let himself slump down to brace himself on his thighs against the bed, panting.  His eyes slowly fluttered open again; his face, his chest, felt wet and flushed and sweaty.

“Goddamn, honey,” he finally managed to breathe.  “That was so good.”  When he looked down at Steve, his lips were flushed, swollen, spattered with come, and there was a long trail of it down his cheek, and unfocused lust pounded in Tony’s gut again, not moving to his cock, but hot and twisting deep inside him, at the sight.  He reached down and swiped some of that come up with his thumb, painting it over Steve’s lips before he pushed it inside, let Steve suck it off, and Steve groaned, moaned around his thumb like he was coming, his lashes fluttering closed.  “I bet you want to come,” Tony said.

Steve nodded, eyes still shut, suckling softly at Tony’s thumb, not moving off it.

“Damn, you’re so gorgeous,” Tony murmured, and it was entirely heartfelt, came from so deep inside him it almost hurt, and yet the words settled so softly on his tongue, so true, just slipping out of him, almost easily.  “Okay, babe.”

He slid back down, centered himself over Steve again, and put his mouth on his nipple.  It was wet and hard and hot in his mouth, still a little sticky-slick with lube, and Tony just closed his eyes and gave it a long, hard suck.

Steve moaned, and Tony could feel his cock jerking up against him, against his own belly, his thigh, and wondered if he’d almost come from that alone.  He sucked again, nice and long, then bit down, just a little. Steve gave a hoarse, harsh cry, one that was abruptly cut off, and Tony looked up to see him pushing his hand into his own mouth, gasping around it.

Steve kind of needed to be quiet sometimes, and Tony got that, so he didn’t bother him about it, just let him bite down on his hand and moan and rock his hips desperately as he covered that hot, needy, jerking nipple with his saliva in sloppy, dragging kisses, biting and laving and sucking, then moved to the other to do the same thing all over again, bringing his hand up to squeeze and rub at the one he’d left wet and dripping with spit.  He kept at it for a while, falling into a rhythm, letting himself lose track of time for a few moments in there, still hazy and sweetly mazed with the aftermath of his own orgasm, but he’d just feel guilty if he never gave Steve a hand on his cock, so after a while he let one nipple go neglected just to slide his hand down between them, get it around Steve’s cock and pull it up on a long, hard stroke that slid his foreskin up around his head, then tugged it back down again.

It only took about three squeezing strokes and a couple of long, steady sucks to his nipple, and then Steve was coming, crying out, hands flying down to tug helplessly, softly at Tony’s hair as he writhed under him, shaking and making the sweetest, rough, low, breathless noises.  Tony smiled, kept sucking at his nipple, just lightly grazing it with his teeth, and kept stroking him until Steve was just lying there, panting, thighs shaking, eyes closed, looking completely fucked out, and then let go, rolled off to lie beside him.

“Oh,” Steve said, in a soft, breathless, awed sort of voice.  He brought a hand up, eyes still closed, and played it carefully over one pectoral muscle, still just a little shiny with lube, the nipple very hot and red and swollen, puffy and wet from Tony’s mouth, and traced his fingers over the flushed red skin.

“Good?” Tony breathed, smiling at him with a fondness that felt like it took up every space inside him, floating out of him to fill the rest of the room up with itself, and reached over to brush Steve’s sweaty hair back out of his face.  “You liked that?”

“I really, really did,” Steve breathed, and pressed his hand down flat against his chest, moaning pleasantly, and if Tony had had the refractory period Steve did—well, his dick would have made a valiant effort to rise at the moans Steve was giving, the way he was massaging his chest.  As it was, it just gave a painful, helpless twinge, twitching a little.

“Good to know,” Tony said. “You’ve gotta tell me about these kinks you have, Winghead,” he added, pushing himself up on one arm and leaning in to press a soft kiss to Steve’s flushed, sweaty, glowing cheek.  “How else am I going to make all your fantasies come true?”

Steve just smiled at that, his eyes opening to soft, sated slits of blue.  “You already do that, Tony,” he murmured.  “Do it every damn day.  So don’t worry about that.”

And Tony felt that heavy surge of tight warmth, almost painful, but not painful, not at all, so damn good, so damn sweet, in his chest, and said, “Sweetheart,” no other words coming to his mind at all, despite his clever brain, the size of his vocabulary, the breadth of his education, because that was what Steve did to him, and leaned in to kiss him, soft and sweet and lingering, feeling Steve arch up into it, his fingers curl softly into Tony’s hair.


End file.
